


Patience Is Not A Virtue

by RocksCanFly



Series: RocksCanFly's As-Of-Yet-Un-Named Sniper/Demo Series [1]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Anal Sex, Appropriate appreciation of tavish degroot's bangin' booty, Canon Character of Color, Companionable Snark, Demoman doesn't know how to feelings, Dirty Talk, Edgeplay, Fingerfucking, Hat Appropriation, Inappropriate use of accents, Insecurity, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Sniper knows even less about how to feelings, This started as porn and then it grew feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 09:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3376145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RocksCanFly/pseuds/RocksCanFly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Mickey Mundy shoves his dick up Tavish Degroot's arse for the first time. That it is the first time is far from the most remarkable thing about the event. An exciting epic featuring excessive preparation, teasing of the verbal and non-verbal varieties, and more Australian slang than you can shake a Scout at.</p><p>(or, Demoman and Sniper have been in a relationship for a while now. Because they are grown-ass adults their first time going all-the-way together is totally and completely normal and there's no emotional vulnerability on anyone's part, no siree-bob)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience Is Not A Virtue

**Author's Note:**

> Thank-you very much to my wonderful beta Lightspeed, who is wonderful and supportive and whose fics you should all go read because they're hot as hell and have great character development.

If there was one way that Mick’s profession had affected their sex life (besides the preference for outdoor sex, which Tavish would get to later) it was that the lad had a _damnable_ amount of patience. It was uncanny, the way the man managed to draw things out. Tavish had been with lovers who liked to take their time before, and he and Mick had their share of fast and dirty, but when Mickey Mundy set his mind to drawing something out he bloody well _drew it out_.

 One night, the first night they had gone all the way, the man had spent _half a bloody hour_ fingering Tavish open, patient as death and slow and implacable as a glacier. By the time the bloody bastard had gotten down to business Tavish had been reduced to a shameful mess of wide-spread, trembling thighs and needy want. The ache for Mick had grown like a yawning pit inside of him, left him half-mad with the hunger for _more_ than those three long, slim, scissoring fingers.

The other man had hovered over him for a half-hour, one of Tavish’s long legs thrown over a bony shoulder and the other hooked around his lean waist. Hard as a rock but with enough insane control to not even touch himself (honestly, Tavish wondered at times if the man was human, with how much iron will he seemed able to exert over himself), the bushman had spent a ridiculous amount of time stroking Tavish open with one hand, digits twisting and stretching inside him. The other hand had set to the busy task of petting up and down Tavish’s dark, smooth thigh and stroking soothingly at his heaving abdomen, warm thumb dipping into the groove of his hip. Occasionally it dipped down to stroke and pinch at the Scot’s firm, round arse, fingers clutching at warm brown flesh possessively.

Mick’d spent the whole of the time murmuring filthy things into the air of the sultry, cramped space of the camper. He teased at length about how tight, how hot Tavish was, about how sweet the flutter of his contracting muscles were around his fingers, how gorgeous the Scott looked all wound-tight and panting beneath him. Mick has a particular fixation on Tavish’s mouth and spent at least ten of the thirty minutes he’d kept the other man trapped under him talking about how much he loves Tavish’s lips, the full plumpness of them, how lovely they look when he’s moaning like a whore, how red and swollen they’d get from kisses and wrapping around Mick’s cock. He’d switch between that and his other favorite topic of the night- how good Tavish was going to feel when Mick finally took him- _I’m gonna bugger you till you're fuller of rocks than the bloody gravel pits, love, it’ll be **aces**_.

He went on to describe how ready Tavish felt, how desperate Mick could feel he was getting, how much Mick _wanted_ him when Tavish was like this, all sweet tension and sweaty, writhing limbs. He spoke in a soft rasp, in that low, dangerous voice he only ever got outside of the bedroom when he was racking up a killstreak.

“You’re gonna turn me into a bloody root rat, you beautiful knob jockie, I can already tell _,”_ he purred, digging hard with one blunt finger and tugging lightly at Tav’s insides teasingly. His other hand slid up the Scot’s slick, muscled chest, started teasing and flicking his dusky nipples. _“_ Bugger the outback, I could spend weeks camping right here and never get tired of the scenery. You’re so bloody **_gorgeous_**.  Just looking at you’s driving me _bonzo_ , love.”

That was what broke Tavish, it was. The manky tease _wanted_ to bugger him and Tavish, at this point, most definitely wanted to _be_ buggered- what the bloody hell was the hold up, then?

Untangling one hand from its death grip in the twisted sheets, Tavish managed to get hold of Mick’s shoulder and drag the smirking, dirty talking bastard down to him so they lay torso to torso, Mick’s fingers still stroking tortuously slow and sweet inside of him. He’d set his face in the fiercest glare he could manage (not very fierce, mind, but it’s fair hard to look fierce when you’ve got a bloody minded bushman pressing his long fingers down firm on ye prostate).  Snarling, he’d drawn the other man into a violent kiss, then pressed his lips to the man’s ear. "Listen here, ye kangaroo fuckin’ numpty," he’d growled breathlessly. "Ye’d best get the bloody fuck on with it and bugger me **_now_** , lest I go find someone else who’ll finish the job _before_ King bloody Arthur returns to bloody fuckin England. I’ll get my jollies elsewhere and leave ye to _wank_ , dinnae think I _won’t_ ," he continued, tightening his thigh against the sniper’s waist painfully to get the threat across. The effect was ruined, of course, when the wanker- smirking like the fucking devil himself, the _bastard_ \- pressed down _brutally_ on Tavish’s prostate, cutting off any further words and forcing the Scot to throw his head back, choking off his own tirade with a low moan.

A moan that transformed into a high, unmanful squeak when Mundy took advantage of the long, smooth bronze column of neck presented to him and bit down _hard_.

“Ye bloody fucking vampire,” Tavish gasped, arching up into the bite, one hand coming up to scrabble at the other man’s back. Mick declined to reply, instead setting into alternately sucking and nibbling the spot, bring up dark bruises that would only _just_ be hidden by Tavish’s uniform in the morning. It was maddening, the rough scape of scruff against the sensitive skin of his neck, the hot tongue and teeth and the twisted thrill of vulnerability that came from having another person’s teeth so close to his jugular. Tavish drew his other hand up to twine in Mick’s short, thick hair, tugging him closer.

While his mouth was busy distracting the other man, Mick withdrew his hands from Tavish’s body, using one to hitch both of the Scot’s legs high on his hips as the other man whined softly at the loss of his fingers. Scooching forward on bare knees, he settled more firmly in between his gasping lover’s shaking thighs and used his free hand to grab the lube lying long discarded on the ledge next to the camper bed.

“Any bleeding piker on this planet put a hand on you but me, _lad-_ ,” he said roughly as he withdrew from Tavish’s neck, looming over him with hooded eyes and a small, threatening smile as he slicked his cock with one hand and gripped the sturdy bone of his lover’s hip possessively with the other, steadying him. “- ‘afore you’ve gone and broken it off with me proper like? Will lose the whole bloody _arm_.”

With that, Mick pushed slowly into Tavish, opening him up increment by tortuously slow increment. A half-hour of preparation had done wonders for stretching tight inner muscles, leaving Tavish feeling nothing but a slight burning edge and an increasing sense of _fullness_ as Mick slid into him.

Once fully seated with their sweaty hips pressing almost painfully tight together, Mick leaned back in over Tavish, one arm supporting him above the other man’s chest. He brought his lips back to the hickey he’d already worried into a deep, purpling bruise, kissing it lightly as he let his lover adjust. A long minute passed before Tavish’s hot, tensed muscles- both inner and outer- relaxed.

He grabbed onto Mick’s head with both hands, tugging the man from his neck to his mouth. After a scalding, bruising kiss that left both of their lips red and tingling, Mickey caught Tavish’s single, golden eye with his own.

“Bushman’s rules,” he murmured against him, and began to thrust.

If Tavish had thought the fingering had gone on for an eternity, it was still nothing compared to the night’s main event.

Riled by Tavish’s threat, Mundy rutted hard and fast into his partner from the get go, setting a rough, shattering pace that left Tavish clinging to deceptively wiry hips and shoulders for dear life. The bed bloody _bounced_. Worse, each thrust managed to scrape only lightly at his prostate with maddening precision- the sniper’s skills put to an unusual, if teasingly pleasant use.

Frustrated- he wouldn’t say it was impatience, not when he’d been waiting a bloody _hour_ for this- Tavish dug blunt nails into the tanned, wind-roughened skin of his lover’s back, hitched his hips up higher in an attempt to force Mick into the proper angle, to get more friction than the sharp, shallow thrusts were giving.

And thank the good Virgin, for _once_ Mick gave into his lover’s urging. Shooting Tavish a dangerous, dirty grin, he adjusted his angle, carefully adjusting so the full brunt of his assault’s force fell on the other man’s prostate- Tavish _howled_.

As the onslaught against his coherency-- and it was an _onslaught_ , for Mick drove forward against him mercilessly now, giving him no breathing room while callused hands squeezed hard at his arse, groping and pulling at his flesh with a lewd depravity that set something hot and tight alight in Tavish’s gut--  continued, Tavish felt himself being slowly forced up the camper bed. If the damn thing weren’t built directly into the truck, he was certain that they would have broken it that first night, the way Mick was going.

Mick was concentrating, breathing labored but deep and even. He was in his element: laser focused on a specific target. His screwed up as he fought through the cloudy bliss of Tavish under him. He took one steady mouth of air after another, drawing on the patience and focus he had built in the last twenty or so years of sniping in order to accomplish his mission.

The only difference in that moment between the camper and the battlefield was that Mick’s mission wasn’t killing BLU’s; it was utterly _wrecking_ his boyfriend.

Tavish’s little threat, as entirely non-serious as it actually was, had very much put the Australian in a bit of a possessive mood. It made him tighten his hands on the other man’s hips, dig his fingers in forcefully, praying to leave bruises that would remind the other man of this night, of how much Mick wanted him.

And he did want him- he didn’t see how anyone couldn’t want Tavish Degroot once they’ve seen him like this, and that’s part of where his jealousy came from. As they moved together, limbs slick with sweat, Mick discovered a thousand irresistible things about his lover in the heat of passion. He found himself enamored with the way Tavish’s mouth falls open as he gets fucked, with the slim golden slit of an eye peeking out at him from beneath dark, heavy lashes. The hot pleasure-pain of Tavish’s blunt nails on his back, the eager, unyielding way the man directed Mick’s body against his own, the hot clench of his thighs around Mick’s hips, the low, gasping moan he elected to grace him with whenever Mick did something just _right_.

The other man was art in motion, pure carnal pleasure embodied in dark skin and muscle, in a full mouth set in a seductive grin below a golden eye.

“Fuckin’ beautiful, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful like this,” Mick groaned through clenched teeth, eyes shuttering closed as Tavish clenched down on him, squeezing him almost painfully. His long fingers dug deep into the warm, dark skin of his lover’s hips as he steadied Tavish against himself. There would be bruises there later, he knew, and the thought of those marks sent another hot rush of possessive arousal through him.

“Only like this, aye?” Tavish managed to tease breathlessly.

The thrusts stopped. Before Tavish had time to protest, Mick was leaning atop of him again, hands gently grasping his face.

“Nah,” the bushman murmured, mouth pressed flat, a queer light in his eyes. He stroked the curve of Tavish’s cheekbones with his thumbs gently, smooth soothing motions that managed to be more intimate than anything else the two had done that night. “Nah, never _only_ like this. Yer _always_ bloody gorgeous, darl,” he said softly, holding Tavish’s face firmly when he tried to turn from him in uncomfortable denial. Something broke in his chest as that single, beautiful eye turned from his. “It kills me that yer too damn blind to see it.”

Tavish shifted awkwardly beneath him, barely resisting the impulse to throw Mick off of him and run very, very far away from those soft eyes. “I’m nea ginna do this with ye right now, love,” he muttered instead.

He knew that Mick had… _ideas_ , feelings about the way he talked about himself. The man flinched every time Tavish called himself a monster, no matter how much the Scotsman insisted it was true. The man’s bloody-minded determination to make Tavish see himself the way he sees him was sometimes almost enough to Tavish to tell him about his past. About the two monsters out at Loch Ness, the big one that ran away and the little one that ended up curled on the shore with his own parent’s gore splattered all over his six year old body.

It was almost enough, but never quite. Because as much as he hated himself, Tavish didn’t know if he’d survive ever seeing that same emotion reflected in those tired blue eyes that looked at him so gentle.

So instead he did his best to shrug the man’s concern off, and picked his words carefully. “If ye need ta talk, we can talk- jus not right this bloody second, aye?”

If anything, Mick just looked at him softer, something pained showing through in the gentle set of his mouth. His hands tightened-- once, just a reassuring squeeze-- on his cheeks. “ _Tavish_ -“

“Bloody _hell_ , mate,” Tavish groaned in exasperation. “I said we cannae do this now--  I jus cannae take ye yabbering seriously when ye cock’s up me _arse_!”

That wiped the damned soft expression away quick as anything. The callused hands dropped their gentle hold on his face, and Mick’s expression flashed from soppy affection to exasperation.

“Yer a bloody mood-breaking bastard, darl,” he deadpanned, flicking Tavish’s ear in consternation.

“An’ yer a sappy mess,” Tavish shot back. “Now, are ye goin’ ta finish what ye started or should I finish this up meself?” he continued, wrapping a hand around his own cock and rolling his hips against Mick’s to punctuate his statement.

“I’ll finish you, alright, you impatient little root rat,” Mick grumbled, and he grabbed Tavish’s hands in his own, intertwining their fingers. Mouth twisted up in a sardonic grin, he pressed their hands into the sheets, stretching their arms out above Tavish’s head so their chests pressed together. With a push of his hips, he started back in as if he’d never stopped for a failed emotional confrontation at all.

Despite Mick’s willingness to let it go-- Tavish guessed that he knew that if he pushed Tavish then Tavish would, by rights, be allowed to push him-- their movements were… off. They were by no means awkward, not with the way Tavish still rocked into every thrust, pushing down onto Mick’s cock and seeking friction for his own against Mick’s tight, sparsely haired abdomen.

But some of the enthusiasm had gone out of it, the savor. The night had started as something to be drawn out, to linger over like shots of fine whiskey or a good fight. Now Tavish just wanted to get them over that, to push the distance between them out of their bed and their minds with the force of a long-awaited orgasm.

The change in intent was obvious to Mick, who by now knew the difference between Tavish enjoying something for its own sake and Tavish using something meant for pleasure as a crutch.

He had his opinions on Tavish’s drinking habits, and did his best to keep them to himself since their relationship started. But he wasn’t about to let Tavish do the same thing to sex, sex between _them_ , that he did to alcohol.

“Gettin’ a little desperate now, are we?” he teased, pulling away as Tavish pushed down towards him, denying the other man the quick satisfaction he sought.

“It’s only been a bloody _hour_ since ye started torturin’ me,” Tavish groused, digging a heel into Mick’s back to show what he thought of the Australian’s sass.

Mick responded with a particularly hard thrust and a filthy grin. “Reach back and grab the edge of the bed, mate,” he demanded, releasing Tavish’s hands and re-settling his own on his lover’s backside, grabbing and pulling at his firm ass to tilt the man’s hips up to better meet his own. “Then we can really get on with the torture.”

Brows raised, Tavish obliged. “You plannin on a repeat of earlier, Micky me boy?”

Mick leaned in for a hot, wet kiss, fucking his tongue in and out of Tavish’s mouth in time with a few shallow thrusts. Pulling back, he nipped hard at Tavish’s full bottom lip, bruising it to further swollen redness. Self-appointed task completed, he leaned in again to breathe warm in Tavish’s ear, eliciting a shiver from the dark man.

“Mate,” he purred, “I’m gonna bugger your pretty little arse so hard ya won’t walk straight for a week when I’m finished with ya, scrumpy or no.”

Without any further preamble, Mick slammed home into the tight, willing heat below him. He began a punishing pace, tilting Tavish up and pulling hard thighs to wrap around his neck, bending the broader man practically in half. As he pounded into him he set to working love bites into the soft, delicate skin behind Tavish’s ear.

Not to be outdone by _Mickey Mundy_ of all people in a verbal sparring match, Tavish tried to get the breath to voice a retort. It was tough going, what with Mick pushing his knees back into his own chest so hard he could hardly breathe in the first place, not to mention the repeated hard thrusts practically punching the air right out of him. By the time he was able to gather the wind for a comeback, the bloody Australian bastard had driven whatever clever line Tavish _knew_ he’d had in his head _out_ , drowning it in a haze of pulsing pleasure. The sensations battering at his senses were nigh impossible to fight through under normal circumstances, let alone after an hour of Mick’s bloody minded _teasing_.

It was bloody overwhelming is what it was; the heat of Mick against him, narrow chest heaving and bony hips slapping against the backs of his upper thighs, the damnable hot mouth on his neck, that _burning_ , gruff voice in his ear, gone smoky with arousal. Gasping, Tavish tried again for snark, and was only able to emit a small, needy whine.

“You like it so much when I come knockin at your back door, you pretty spunk, bet you could get off from just this, eh?” Mick grunted in his ear, hot breath bathing over it as he dug blunt nails hard into the meat of Tavish’s arse. Tavish could only keen against him, panting for air and sense. “Cat got your tongue, love? That’s what I like to hear, that is,” Mick purred, nibbling a soft earlobe. “You're so far gone just from me buggering your tight arse, yeah? Not a touch to your wang, don’t need it, not when you’re such a _sensitive_ little cockslut. Gonna get you off with just my cock in you, love, see if I don’t.”

“Mick,” Tavish managed, huffing. “ _Please_ ,” he grunted, knuckles going pink and grey as he clawed at the mattress behind him, clinging to the sheets like they were the last vestiges of his sanity.

“Don’t worry mate, we’re almost there,” Mick soothed, pounding deeper. He ignored the proud, dark cock straining up towards him, instead bending Tavish back even farther so it smacked wetly against that muscled, toned abdomen with every thrust. “God you're _perfect_ ,” he breathed, taking one hand from Tavish’s arse to tilt his chin forwards, force that lust-clouded eye to meet his own. “I’m so close, just watching you _take_ it, all tight and hot, you perfect, gorgeous fucking _beauty_ ,” he panted, straining hard to hit the spot that would drive his lover towards the edge. Tavish gasped at he hit it dead on, over and over again. His full mouth hung open, lips spit shiny and swollen. Unable to resist the temptation, Mick drew him in for another rough kiss.

“You’re driving me bloody _mental_ , you’re so bloody _perfect,_ ” he continued when they parted. Tavish swallowed thickly, tried to turn his head away to pant into the sheets, but Mick held him still with a firm hand on his chin. “Gonna bugger ya till you _burst_ , darl,” he grunted, feeling the clench and flutter of Tavish’s oncoming orgasm. “Then I’m gonna shoot my load off in in ya and lick it out of ya till you burst again, then I’m gonna flip ya and pin ya and tit-fuck that pretty bum of yours till I wad right on your back,” he growled, dipping into that low, gravelly rumble that drove Tavish crazy. From the way the man’s thighs were tightening around his shoulders, practically threatening to pop them out of joint, Mick knew Tavish was _close_. All he needed was that final little push- “You're _not_ leavin’ _this_ bed _till_ I’ve _buggered_ your _other_ eye _out_ , darl, _so_ ya _best_ just settle _in_ and _enjoy_ the _ride_ , ” he grunted, emphasizing every other word with a hard push into him at precisely the right angle.

With a rough curse, Tavish released his death grip on the mattress, folding upwards and grabbing Mick by the face. He slammed their mouths together desperately, mouthing against Mick helplessly as the shocks of his orgasm finally shook through him, reducing him to a trembling mess. “Mick, _Mick_ ,” he gasped, eye clenched shut, moaning nonsense into the sloppy attempt at a kiss.

“I’ve got ya, darl,” Mick assured softly, tone dropped back to its normal rough drawl. “Can ya stay with me just a little longer, just a little longer,” he begged, breathing rough. “ _Please_ , Tav, I’m so--”

“--if ye even _think_ of finishing anywhere but where ye are, Mickey Mundy, I’ll stab yer eye out so we match,” Tavish managed with a glinting look. At Mick’s distracted nod he let himself flop back to the mattress, dragging the other man back on-top of himself as he went.

Burying a breathless chuckle in his lover’s neck, Mick happily caved to the threat. His thrusts began to lose their steady rhythm, though he still made sure to brush up against Tavish’s prostate as he chased his own release. The other man’s tight muscles fluttered around his cock, spasming from the over-stimulation. Blissed out, Tavish continued to shake and tremble beneath him, meeting his thrusts with his little remaining energy.

“C’mon love,” Tavish whispered huskily, breath warm and ticklish in Mick’s ear. “Give us what ye got, hmm?”

And that was the end of it. With a groan and one last push, Mick tipped over the edge, the warmth of his release spreading in Tavish’s guts. Exhausted, the skinny sniper gently lowered Tavish’s thighs from his shoulders, massaging the blood back into them absently at he slumped to lie atop his equally spent lover.

“Yer gettin spunk in yer pubes, love,” Tavish murmured gently after a minute’s quiet peace. Mick chose not to respond, instead leaning up and capturing his lover in a languid kiss. Their mouths moved softly against one another, content with the gentle press of lips and tongue now that their earlier fervor lay cooling to warmth between them.

“Only spunk I care ‘bout is the stuff leaking out of your arse,” Mick grumbled. “Want that I eat you out and clean you up, darl?”

“Och,” Tavish groaned, shifting beneath Mick as he stretched sore legs and arms out on the bed. “Nae, I’ll take a raincheck on that, boyo. Ye went and wore me out something fierce already. Don’t think me arse can take anymore of your attentions tonight.”

“Wimpy skirt-wearing piker,” Mick teased, pecking Tavish once more on the lips before peeling away. Tavish let him go- comfortable as their post-coital haze was, he knew as well as Mick that the last thing they wanted was Tavish’s spunk drying between their bellies.

 _Speakin_ ’ of spunk-- Tavish heaved himself up onto his forearms with a grunt so he was half-sitting on the bed. “Did ye call me a load a’ semen when you were dirty talking earlier, ye kangaroo humping bastard?” Tavish asked curiously as Mundy rummaged around for a clean rag and some fresh sheets in one of the camper’s many compartments.

“Nah,” Mick tossed over his shoulder. “Spunk means something a little different in Oz than it does in the Highlands, darl’.”

“Like wot?” Tavish questioned, wincing uncomfortably at the squelch of Mick’s load between his thighs as he shifted to pull the dirty sheets free of the bed.

Mick chuckled. “Wouldn’t you like to know,” he taunted, wetting the rag from the jug of lukewarm washing water he kept in one of the cabinets. Satisfied with the state of the rag, he turned back to the bed.

Tavish-- who had found and stolen his hat, the cheeky bastard-- lay supine across the bed, chin resting in one palm while the other settled on the jut of his own hip suggestively. He looked like a cheap porn star plucked straight from the pages of a skinmag.

“Aw, ya can tell me, mate,” he drawled in an ungodly attempt at Mick’s accent, hat cocked over his eye-patch. “We’re all koala-buggering Australian pikers here, roight?”

“You sheep-fucking Scottish wanker,” Mundy deadpanned, crossing the cramped space in one long step. Kneeling, he roughly tugged Tavish’s thighs off the bed and over his shoulders, exposing the Scot’s leaking arsehole. After a few quick swipes to the man’s cum spattered torso, Mick attacked his nether regions with indignance.

“Gently, _gently_ ,” Tavish hissed, fake accent dropped. “I’m a wee bit sore down there, ye bloody minded _cunt_.”

“And my cock’s dead from your god awful _slaughter_ of me mother tongue,” Mick retorted with a punishing nip at the soft brown skin of Tavish’s inner thigh. But he did gentle his touch, taking care not to irritate his lover’s sore flesh as he cleaned away the mess he’d left. Finished, Mick laid a sweet kiss over the bite. He shrugged Tavish’s thighs from his shoulders and stood, urging the other man off the bed so he could change the sheets.

Finished, Mick lay down on the bed, lifting the upper sheet and patting the spot beside him. “Best take me hat off ‘lest you’re planning to ride me while wearing it, darl,” he said flatly.

“Now _there’s_ an idea,” Tavish retorted, voice soft. “But I’m afeared ye’ve gone and tuckered me out, love,” he sighed dramatically, replacing Mick’s hat on its hood beside the bed. “Raincheck?” he teased, hovering just out of reach.

“Just get in here, ya bloody disaster,” Mick grumped, grabbing for him.

Grinning, Tavish climbed into the cramped bed beside him, cuddling into Mick and pressing his face into the man’s narrow chest, working his arms around his lover’s rangy torso. Mick twined his own arms around him in kind, one gangly limb tucked beneath their heads while the other draped possessively over Tavish’s back, hand coming to a proprietary rest just above his arse.

Content and comfortable, Tavish nuzzled his face into Mick’s neck, tucking himself beneath the lanky man’s sharp chin. “G’night, love.” he said softly, voice muffled.

Unseen by his burrowing lover, Mick smiled gently. “G’night, darl,” he murmured. As Tavish’s breath evened out and he began to snore softly, Micks smile took on a troubled edge.

He’d thought--hoped-- that tonight would be the night he got Tavish to open up to him. Hypocritical as it was, given his own carefully guarded secrecy, Mundy couldn’t help but wish the the demoman would tell him what he happened in his life to make him hate himself as much as he did. He could always resort to his usual methods-- but it would be wrong.

Wrong is a concept Mickey Mundy had only recently begun to have trouble with, and it was largely thanks to the sleeping Scottish nobleman in his arms and his, well, _unique_ but strong sense of honor.

But no matter how he pressed the man, sober or completely pissed, Mick just couldn’t get the bloody story out of him.

Choosing to put it out of his mind for now- it wasn’t every night that Mick fell asleep well fucked, a gorgeous black Scottish cyclops with a fierce temper and a gentle heart nestled in his arms-- Mick decided to let himself keep the questions for another day. For that evening, he buried his face in the soft lamb’s wool of his lover’s hair, and drifted off to sleep.

Both mercenaries slept well that night, better than either of them had in years.

Until Tavish had to take a piss and couldn’t pry his bloody limpet of a lover off of him, that is.


End file.
